Had I even begun the conversation with an account of what befel me in my chamber, my previous interview with Wieland would have taught him to suspect me of imposture; yet, if I were discoursing with this ruffian, when Pleyel touched the lock of my chamber door, and when he shut his own door with so much violence, how, he might ask, should I be able to relate these incidents?
Perhaps he had withheld the knowledge of these circumstances from my brother, from whom, therefore, I could not obtain it, so that my innocence would have thus been irresistibly demonstrated.
The first impulse which flowed from these ideas was to return upon my steps, and demand once more an interview; but he was gone: his parting declarations were remembered.
Pleyel, I exclaimed, thou art gone for ever! Are thy mistakes beyond the reach of detection?
Am I helpless in the midst of this snare?
The plotter is at hand.

He even speaks in the style of penitence.

He solicits an interview which he promises shall end in the disclosure of something momentous to my happiness.

What can he say which will avail to turn aside this evil?
But why should his remorse be feigned?
I have done him no injury.

His wickedness is fertile only of despair; and the billows of remorse will some time overbear him.